


Still Lost

by ifellinahole_22



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Language, Post Death Cure, Post Season 4 Teen Wolf, Stiles is Thomas, dead newt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2020-06-02 15:43:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 17,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19444510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifellinahole_22/pseuds/ifellinahole_22
Summary: Seven months had past since Stiles had disappeared and they still had nothing, until Lydia, the resident genius (and banshee) of the group gave them a lead. None of the pack understood, but, by now, they’d trusted her and her unpredictable abilities, they were going to Mexico. Again.1/8/20 CHAPTER 12 HAS BEEN UPLOADED (The first few chapters are rough, but it’ll get better. Probably.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve never done this before so bare with me, I still might bail on it. I really like the tmr and tw crossovers and thought I’d write a few to show some of the things I’d like to see in these fics. I’m not sure how long I’ll be making this one so we’ll just have to wait and see how it goes. Also, neither Teen Wolf nor The Maze Runner belong to me.
> 
> Background info you might want to know that I probably won’t be able to fit into the story very well: 
> 
> 1\. The timeline might be a little rough ( I wanted to include the new additions to the pack as well as the Nogitsune angst from season 3. This will take place right after season 4 ended)
> 
> 2\. I’m trying to be thorough and establish why/how/when WICKED managed to kidnap Stiles so it might be a little rough/stretched (work with me here)
> 
> 3\. I’m going to pick and choose moments from the books and movies that I want to include so this might not be consistent with one or another (basically no telepathy, Thomas knocked the gun away from Newt and wound up stabbing him like in the movie, Minho and the others know about Newt’s death, Thomas strangled Janson, etc.

Seven Months Ago:

Stiles was upset. Not six hours after the complete and utter shit show that was the Pack’s little field trip to ‘La Iglesia’, does he find himself in trouble once again.  
Riding in the back of the truck after the, quite frankly, exhausting, events that took place in Mexico, regarding Kate, Peter, the Berserkers, and Kira and Scott being kidnapped, Stiles was dreading going back home and trying to explain yet another unauthorized trip to Mexico to his father. While at the same time, he wanted nothing more than to hurry up and get back home so he could take a hot shower and sleep for the rest of his life.

Arriving home finding his dad’s squad car parked in the drive way, Stiles walked inside getting ready to reestablish to his dad that he had no choice but to run off with the others to Mexico to save Scott and Kira, because when it came to his brother, Stiles blocked out all reason despite the danger involved. Instead of being swept right up into an argument like he’s expecting, Stiles was pulled into a hug by his father.

“I’m just glad you're alright,” the Sheriff sighed, flooding in relief.

“You too, dad,” Stiles replied, thinking of the run in with a Berserker his father, Mason, and Lydia had while he was away.

It wasn’t much but, just hugging his father and assuring each other that the other was okay was enough to make the tension in his shoulders, from all the action recently, dissipate a little bit, this was enough for now.

XXX

Later that evening, Stiles was driving his freshly repaired Jeep to the gas station to fill up the tank and maybe get a small snack for the ride back to his house, he’d deserved it for surviving two very bloody trips to Mexico. It was fairly late at night when the guy at the mechanics finished up, the very same mechanics shop when Stiles watched paralyzed (literally) while a man was crushed underneath his car by the Kanima, yeah he was still on that.  
Stiles was planning on driving himself home when he’d finished anyway, so he didn’t mind too much when the repair ran a little long. 

Filling himself up at the empty gas station, a Reese’s package in hand, he patiently pumped his gas until he was jumped from behind by a few large figures dressed in black, catching him severely off guard. He’d barely had enough time to start to swivel around to face his oncoming attackers, throwing an instinctual punch, landing on one of them, before a syringe pricked his skin. Ah, _sedatives_ , another old friend of his. Dropping everything from his hands, he stumbled forward fumbling around in his pockets to find his phone and call Scott, _anybody_ , for help. He’d just barely managed to pull his phone out of his pocket before darkness started to cloud his vision, whatever sedative used by his attackers, working fast, as he desperately fought, disoriented, to put as much distance between him and the looming figures crowding around him readying to load him into a dark, tinted SUV he’d just noticed creep into his line of sight. The last thing he noticed was the large, block letters on the side of the vehicle before his world faded to black.

_‘W.I.C.K.E.D’_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m thinking this chapter will be about the pack and their experience from the time that Stiles went missing to right before they find him. Enjoy!

Maybe it was because of all the action this week, hell, this _year_ , that prevented Scott from realizing he’d hadn’t seen Stiles at school the days following the pack’s return to Beacon Hills from Mexico. With Peter’s betrayal, Derek leaving, and Kate still out there wreaking havoc, they were pretty busy. Not to mention, Scott had to train his new beta, Liam, who was still struggling with control over the shift. With all this on his plate, it wasn’t until Tuesday that Scott realized that he hadn’t seen Stiles since Sunday evening, and started to freak out, the fact that Stiles wasn’t answering his phone wasn’t helping, so he started asking everyone when they last saw him. 

“I haven’t seen him since we got back,” his beta answered, thinking of the car ride home where he and Stiles continued to talk about controlling the shift as well as some funny stories from their early days when Stiles was trying to help Scott figure out his own new abilities. “You don’t think anything bad happened to him, do you?” He asked, now worried. Scott could see the new friendship blooming between his best friend and beta and allowed himself to feel proud of how well his pack was coming together, especially now, without Derek’s guidance.

”Let's not get ahead of ourselves, he could just be sick or something. We'll check his house and talk to the Sheriff after school,” Scott reassured, internally berating himself for not noticing and checking up on Stiles earlier.

XXX

After school, Scott hopped on his dirt bike and stormed the Stilinski home, Lydia, Liam, Malia, and Kira in suit. Getting there shortly after the Sheriff himself, the pack was greeted by a, judging by his chemo signals, _very_ stressed and frantic Noah Stilinski pacing around his kitchen, one hand holding his phone, the other fisted tightly into his hair. A sight that only succeeds in unnerving the pack more. Upon seeing them enter, he turns to them, displaying the worry lines developed over years raising a young, hyperactive Stiles with a tendency for mischief.

”Oh God, good, Scott, you’re here,” he says, relaxing just barely. “I’ve been working long shifts for the past couple of days, barely even coming home in between shifts, I’ve been so busy... I should’ve known, I knew something was wrong, I should have stayed to check up on him, I’m the Sheriff, so what if I’m late! I just expected him to be able to get ready and get to school on time, I’ve been so busy I haven’t even seen him around the house today or yesterday, I should’ve known something was up..” he rambles on, worrying everyone to death, while still losing them in the process.

”...I mean if I’d checked I could’ve gotten a report out sooner but I mean it has to be 24 hours before someone’s considered missing, but YOU'RE WEREWOLVES FOR CHRIST’S SAKE, WE, _I_ COULD’VE BEEN DOING SOMETHING, _ANYTHING_!!” He stresses, increasing in volume and desperation. 

“Sheriff, what’s going on? what are you talking about?!” Scott finds himself asking, even though he’s sure he already knows the answer. Still, he dreads hearing it said out loud, making it real. 

“It’s Stiles,” the Sheriff confirms, “Stiles is missing,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m adding in a bit of pack dynamics and bromance in this chapter. I love the idea of a nurturing, optimistic “Mama Scott” and a sarcastic, deadpanning, stressed mess “Papa Stiles” providing a rational and human presence to Liam. So cute!
> 
> More chapters soon! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I didn’t update yesterday, I wasn’t feeling well and was super busy all day. I’ll try to lengthen my chapters. Enjoy! :)
> 
> P.s. this will be more about the Gladers and their escape from W.I.C.K.E.D/being found. I will have to tweak some of the facts to make it more realistic and less sci-fi (no telepathy or flat trans) I will also by combining scenes from both the books and the movies so I won’t remain consistent with one media type or another.
> 
> P.P.S MAJOR CHAPTER EDITING: I changed a lot about this chapter bc it’s important for where I’m going with the next one and where the story’s going.

Even though it was the last thing he wanted to think about, Thomas couldn’t get it out of his head. The moment he realized he’d lose Newt forever, and then the moment he did.

_“Please, Tommy, please,”_

Thomas kept replaying it over and over in his head, the agonizing memory of when he felt his heart break into two, only having lasted seconds, but would go on to haunt him endlessly inside his head, scorched into his mind forever. The moment he had taken Newt’s life, his heart ached, wishing that he‘d taken his own instead, anything to save his best friend, whom he’d let be driven to insanity for his closest friends, _family_ , and all of W.I.C.K.E.D to see. Newt had begged Thomas to relieve him of his pain, to save him from losing himself, and it took everything in him to fulfill his dying wish. He couldn’t even do that right.

Newt was even determined to do it himself, pulling the gun from its holster and pressing it against his temple, horrified, Thomas had knocked it away from him, snapping the infected _crank—_ a disgusting word that should never be used in reference to him—part of Newt back in control, fighting Thomas tooth and nail for the discarded weapon. In that split second, he realized he’d even managed to take away that choice from Newt, he knew Thomas couldn’t do it and he tried to do it himself, while he was still _himself_. And Thomas hates himself even more for it. He was still holding out hope that Newt could be saved, being naive enough to allow himself to avoid thinking about the only other option, as if it would make it any less real. It didn’t. So here he was, frozen on his knees, kneeling over the still-warm body of what once was his best friend. He looked as though he was simply sleeping, though the handle of the boy’s knife, protruding out of his chest, courtesy of Thomas, proved otherwise. He wasn’t waking up.

XXX

Picking himself up, Thomas grabbed the gun and at realizing that it had belonged to Newt, an sharp aching sliced at his heart, mirroring the wound on the crumpled body lying on the ground behind him. Willing himself to walk away, he dragged himself to the building where Janson and Theresa waited for him. Phrases like “ _You’re the cure,_ ”, “ _You can stop all of this,_ ” and _“Do the right thing,_ ” still echoing in his head, mocking him. The audacity they had to use the whole ‘greater good’ speech on him, after they’d practically thrown morality and basic human decency out the window. But thinking about everything they’ve done and put him through, made him nauseous and left him feeling like he’d been gutted, his insides spilling out on display for all of W.I.C.K.E.D to see. At this point he just rather feel nothing at all.

Slowly, the elevator descended the length of the building, floor by floor, he wasn’t sure if he was breathing or not judging by the aching in his chest, but more likely it was just being drowned out by the sounds of overall chaos filling the streets below, The Right Arm and W.I.C.K.E.D swapping bullets, the occasional explosion shaking the foundation of the building, foreshadowing its inevitable collapse. Still, he trudged on, the elevator stopping at the level assigned to their meeting place, several meters below ground. A quick getaway was not going to be easy.

However, looking around, the small hallway he’d walked through the doors into, opened up until he found himself in a whole facility completely hidden under ground. He realized that the whole city above them had probably been all for show, another fake world they’d been living in. He wouldn’t have been surprised if this whole _experiment_ had taken place underground, it would be difficult, but it would have kept all of them hidden from the outside world, right in the palm of W.I.C.K.E.D’s hand, and allowed them to easily control the conditions in which they kept them, one big arena with the limits built right in, enforced with their own personal monsters. _Shucking assholes._

Rounding a corner, he found the one and only Chancellor Ava Paige standing in the middle of the hallway, facing him, and judging by her raised hands, he assumed she was expecting him. Immediately filled with rage and distrust, he pointed his weapon at her. She was the last person he wanted to see right now, the woman at the root of all his problems. Seemingly unfazed by his silent threat, she rushed to him, a folded piece of paper in her hands suddenly thrusted into one of his.

“Thomas,” she said, clearly agitated, “ there’s still time for you to get out, to somewhere safe. If you look on that map,” she said, gesturing to the paper in his hand. “you’ll see I highlighted a route that’ll lead you through hallways, tunnels then, eventually a couple flights of stairs. If you follow those directions you will make it outside, the _real_ outside.” She rambled urgently, leaving no room for disagreements. 

“You need to hurry,” she commanded, “or there won’t be anything left.” Giving him a knowing look when a faraway blast shook the foundation around them. He didn’t trust her, and never would again, but this was all he had to go off of. This was the only lead he had to getting out of here, and he was just praying this would end up in his favor for once.

“GO!” She yelled to him as he began to gather his bearings. A gunshot sounding out shortly after her command, and Thomas watched as she crumpled to the ground, a wet patch of blood rapidly increasing on her stomach. As he watched her fall, he noticed that her face showed no pain or distress. _More like relief_ , he noted, _maybe we weren’t the only ones in all this who wanted to be free_ , he thought to himself.

Refocusing, Thomas looked up to find himself face to face with Janson, the older man’s gun aimed at his chest.

”Stop fighting, Thomas,”

XXX

If he wasn’t so emotionally exhausted he would have shown more of an outward sign as to how startled he was to have been caught off guard like that, despite being the one to give himself up in the first place. Yet, even at seeing the barrel of the gun and the diseased veins running up Janson’s neck and face, all he could muster up was a slight raise of his eyebrows at the surprise and a tiny step backwards to put some more space between him and the clearly infected man standing before him. _I’m sure he’s holding enough of a grudge to tear me apart, that shucking rat bastard. I better not push my luck just yet._ Thomas thought to himself bitterly, putting away his weapon, hands up in surrender. Despite the gesture, the Ratman kept his gun trained on Thomas, motioning with his head to a room down the hall, door slightly ajar. _Ajar. Huh._ The word sounded somewhat familiar. Important.

“Let’s get on with it,” the Ratman spoke again, pulling Thomas out of his temporary reverie. “I think you’ve let enough of your friends die.”

The step Thomas was preparing to take halted, Janson’s stab at him ripping open the already strained floodgate inside him, the only thing keeping him in check. How _dare_ he try and put all of this on him. Fuming, Thomas turned around slowly, facing the man with his weapon still trained on him. _Shuck going peacefully,_ he thought, _I’m gonna give him hell, y’know, return the favor._ Janson must have sensed his reluctance to go willingly and his building anger, that or he was just _fucking crazy_ (he was a crank after all), because just after Thomas gave a searching look to his surroundings, contemplating reaching for his own gun, Janson smashed the butt of his pistol into the side of Thomas’ head. Dizzy, Thomas stumbled forward, a large wave of pain and nausea crashing over him, almost nostalgic considering the numerous blows he received from Theresa’s staff, _yeah_ , head injuries weren’t his favorite. Thomas spared another second tripping over his feet before he tumbled to the ground falling unconscious. 

XXX

Regaining consciousness, Thomas squinted against the light shining directly into his eyes where he was strapped to a chair in a small lab, restrained at the wrists and ankles. A deep and persistent throbbing in the back of his head reminded him of recent events and immediately his guard was back up. Sitting on a stool to the side of the chair was Theresa, who was using a syringe of some sort to extract his blood and from it, produce a light blue liquid he was willing to bet was the cure. All the while, a crazed and infected Ratman stood over him, black veins crawling up his neck and face popping grotesquely in the fluorescent light. He was looking pretty worse for wear and looked more disheveled than Thomas had ever seen him, it almost felt good to see him knocked down a peg, from that smug and condescending tone in which he would address them, to the twitching, distressed mess that stood before him. He took it back, it absolutely felt good. Unfortunately, his amusement was short lived as the situation seemed to escalate quickly. Between his demanding to be released and his threats to Janson’s life, the Ratman’s insistence to be the first treated with the cure, as if he was deserving of it, and Theresa’s refusal to comply, the room turned to chaos fairly quickly. _At least she’s finally managed to pick the right side,_ he thought. Amongst the action, Theresa managed to distract Janson by throwing the vial across the room, using the time bought from his rushing to retrieve it, she'd managed to undo the bindings on Thomas’ feet and left wrist, before Janson was on her. 

“THERESA!” Thomas called to her after watching Janson toss her over a table and onto the floor, crashing into everything on top of it. As Janson stalked over to her, Thomas was tearing at the remaining restraint with his free hand, one eye on the Ratman looming over Theresa’s retreating figure, dragging herself through the broken glass on the floor to get away.

Finally managing to get free, Thomas jumped up and tackled Janson to the floor, giving Theresa the chance to get to her feet and find the vial that had been lost once again during the scuffle. Collecting it into her hands she could hear Thomas and Janson exchanging blows behind her, the latter silently pulling out his gun once he’d gained enough leverage on Thomas.

“Tom, we need to go!” She yells over her shoulder to him through another explosion, shaking the building.

She turns to see Thomas and Janson wrestling on the floor Janson attempting to aim his weapon at Thomas’ head, with the younger man barely fighting him off. With a well placed kick to the ribs, Thomas rolls Janson off of him, taking position above him to gain some sort of leverage, fingers fisted around Janson’s throat, blocking off his airway. Unfortunately for him, Janson manages to aim the gun upwards and in front of him, firing, Thomas’s middle explodes in pain as the bullet passes through his abdomen.

“Thomas!” She screamed seeing him standing over a motionless Janson, clutching at his stomach where one of the Ratman’s bullets passed through. Behind him the glass of a containment cell splinters then shatters, as a result of the bullet firing through Thomas and into the glass, freeing two “Past Gone” cranks into the room, descending upon the Ratman.

Theresa rushes over wrapping one of Thomas’ arms around her shoulders as they struggle out of the room leaving Janson to the cranks. They are able to make it into the hallway, Thomas fumbling around in his pocket with one hand, fishing out the map from earlier. Following the route marked in a bright neon yellow color, hurriedly making twists and turns, through hallways, tunnels, and up staircases, reminding Thomas of the maze that he’d much rather forget. After a sharp turn the two Gladers almost run smack into Minho, Gally, Brenda, Jorge and Frypan. _We’ve got some crazy shuckin’ luck_ , Thomas thinks to himself with an amazed and relieved smirk across his face, blinking blood out of his vision from the blows Janson had served him.

“Shucking hell,” Minho breathed over the noise of the building collapsing around them, exasperated yet smiling at the sight of his friend, albeit beaten and bloodied in front of him, an oozing bullet hole in his stomach.

Falling right back into formation, the two small groups merge, Minho and Brenda replacing Theresa at Thomas’ sides, glaring at her over their shoulders as they transition. With Gally and Frypan taking up the front, the three of them in the middle, and Jorge and Theresa in the rear, they march on quickly, Thomas shouting directions from his map, trying hard to run with them, along with Minho and Brenda’s help, having been slowing them down enough already. 

Finally, at the end of a narrow tunnel, they reach a ladder leading about ten feet up where they can see a small hatch door.

”Okay,” Minho starts, turning to face everyone, “We don’t know what we’re gonna find up their so we go in certain order, I’ll go first to check it out make sure it’s safe. We don’t need another shuck trap or whatever getting the jump on us,” he explains, as they all nod along feeling the urgency of the situation, the building seconds away from crumbling. “Gally and Jorge, you to follow right behind me incase I need some help up top. Next’ll be Brenda. Thomas’ll need someone to spot him from the ground while we help pull him up, to make sure nothing goes wrong,”

“I’ll do it,” says Theresa, stepping forward.

“Good,” Minho continues, and it’s clear now why he was the Keeper of the Runners. “that means you’ll go after Brenda,” he says to Frypan, who simply nods and gets into position. 

“Then let’s get going,” Thomas says, “coz we don’t have much time left.” A well timed tremor shakes the structure around them, proving his point. At seeing the walls around them in the narrow tunnel begin to crack and crumble, Minho begins to climb, Gally and Jorge following close behind.

XXX

Watching Frypan’s figure quickly climb the ladder, Thomas braces himself for his turn, grasping the pegs and doing his best not to jostle his injuries. Looking up he could see that Frypan had made it all of the way to the top and through the hatch, Minho’s head sticking out over the open hatch, illuminated by the small amount of sunlight above. At the sight, Thomas allows himself a moment of excitement, thinking about the possibility that they could finally be getting out, seeing the real world, all he had to do was get through that door. His mind suddenly changed, reminding him of all those who died trying to get them here, Chuck and Newt came to the forefront of his mind and he willed the pain away, the tunnel suddenly making him claustrophobic. He began climbing wanting out immediately, desperately hoping that this really was the end, that this wasn’t all a set up by Paige and that the hatch wasn’t really going to lead them straight into another trial. 

_Only one way to find out_ , his mind urged him, as he began climbing faster, well as fast as he could in his condition. He felt his stomach drop as he felt the explosion that took the rest of the structure down, the walls and floors shaking around and below him, the whole situation becoming drastically more urgent, yet all he could do was look down at Theresa who was still on the ground below him.

”Come on, Thomas! Come on, we got ya!” His friends call to him, hands clawing at him pulling him up towards them, reaching to him from the floor above the hatch, the building burning and collapsing behind them as they reach.

Barely managing to grasp onto Minho’s hand, Thomas is pulled from the narrow shaft and dragged by his friends up, onto the ground above, laying in a heap amongst his friends. He hears himself scream at her to move to climb up too, but she doesn’t move, just looks up at him, face showing no fear, only something resembling content. Dread pools in the bottom of his stomach as he watches the roof and walls cave in around Theresa, her body being crushed and lost underneath the crumbling building. The others look away in sadness or respect and move check over his wounds, where they can finally start treating that bullet wound, but he pays them no mind, staring at the spot below where she once stood. _We were so close, she was so close_ his mind cries, echoing around in his empty head. But all he can focus on is the feeling eating him up inside, he’s tired of watching his friends die. That snaps something in him. _He needs to know, I can’t let him go on without knowing_ , Thomas thinks clawing at the collar of Minho’s shirt, grabbing his attention. The teen leans in a bit in question. 

“It was me,” Thomas says, voice breaking from unshed tears, “Newt. He begged me. I did it. He's de-“

”I know, Shank,” Minho interrupted tears in his eyes as well. He put a hand on Thomas’ shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More chapters soon! :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still working out all of the kinks, specifically how I want the pack and the Gladers to cross paths/meet. Enjoy! :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I’m seriously stretching the concept thin on this one. Sorry if the whole escape didn’t make any sense last chapter, I just don’t get how if in a crossover the rest of the world wouldn’t know about a giant portion of the desert being used by weird scientists in post apocalyptic setting. Anyway, sorry about the stupidity, I just had to make it so that all of W.I.C.K.E.D’s operations were secret. Where all of this was won’t matter in the long run. Stick with me on this!

Thomas laid there, as Minho and Brenda kneeled over him, treating his gunshot wound with crooked stitches and old bandages they keep on them at all times, stained a dirty yellow from use. From his place sprawled out on the floor, he surveyed the area, more of a distraction from the pain than a precaution, as his lack of adrenaline and proper medical attention made the repair particularly excruciating. No matter, the leaking wound distracted him from the pain of what felt like a sledge hammer having crashed into the far side of his head. Yep, he definitely had a concussion.

Looking around the peculiar building they’d crawled, he noticed that they were in a small, rickety old house made of wood, clearly abandoned years before. Inside the single story cottage there was a crumbling brick fireplace and not much else. All around the room, Thomas could spot various different types of furniture, just as broken down, the only thing still left standing was a small, moldy couch off to the side of the room. The old wallpaper peeled off of the walls around the broken and boarded up windows. Thomas hadn’t realized how cold the hard floor was until he was lifted up onto his feet, now standing directly across from the door at the front of the home, the only way in or out. His hand instinctually reached up to console the splitting in his head.

As they let their current situation set in, they stoned themselves over, starting for the door, not sure what to expect but not trusting their surroundings either. Falling into position, Thomas took up the front, Gally and Minho side by side behind him, Brenda a step back, and Frypan and Jorge poised like Gally and Minho, taking the back. Weapons raised in front of them, guns, blasters, knifes, spears, ready for an attack they crept through the door, filing onto the porch, out looking a vast and sandy desert.  _ ‘Cause one wasn’t enough, _ Thomas thinks bitterly. It was nothing compared to the Scorch but the heat was still far from pleasant. Six sets of eyes dart around in every direction looking for any sign of danger. Despite coming up empty, their tense appearance didn’t let up. 

“Let’s circle around back,” Thomas suggested, falling back into his leadership role despite his injuries. Receiving a couple of silent nods in agreement, the group stalked around through the sand, to behind the house. Luckily the only thing to be found there was an equally abandoned W.I.C.K.E.D van parked off to the side.

“Score,” Minho smirked, his lovable sarcasm and wit one of the only things holding the group together. “About time we caught a break.”

After checking out the inside of the van, the others went to scavenge whatever they could from the cottage and collected all of their supplies, while Minho and Gally figured out how to hot-wire the thing and make sure it was still drivable. Returning with wooden chair legs, a lighter, and a couple of kitchen knives, Thomas unloaded his findings into the back of the van, noticing that somehow, Minho had managed to scratch off most of the large W.I.C.K.E.D logo on the side.

Wrapping up at the house, the Gladers (plus friends) clambered into the back of the van, Jorge as designated driver, and headed off away from the house and begun following along the dirt road, dark vegetation lining the trails.

“Well first thing we gotta do is figure out where the shuck we are,” Gally was saying, sitting across from Brenda, playing with a knife in his hand.

“There’s gotta be a map in here somewhere,” Brenda continued, rifling through the collection in the back of the van.

“Plates say New Mexico,” Minho answered from his place next to her. “Do we even have an actual destination?” He asked looking across from him at Thomas, sharpening the end of a chair leg with a salvaged kitchen knife.

“Assuming this really is all over, which, I wouldn’t hold my breath, let’s get out of the desert, as far as we can get, and we’ll just stop at the nearest town, something small though,” he replied, looking around at the others for any disagreements. “We’ll head further up into the states, I guess, whichever one’s closest, find a good sized city to blend into?”

“Sounds good,  _hermano_ ,” Jorge calls back from the drivers seat, “Not like we got some place to be,”

XXX

Seven months they searched for Stiles, the Sheriff had all of his deputies investigating his disappearance, tracking down where he went from when the Sheriff last saw him to everything he did after, losing the trail at the empty, rundown gas station, no witnesses. Scott and his pack had immediately addressed all of their contacts; Chris Argent, Derek and Braeden, even Derek’s “creepy-zombie-werewolf-uncle”, Peter, as Stiles referred to him. They’d even considered going to the Calaveras, offering them money for any kind of lead they could offer them. The pack constantly patrolled Beacon Hills, trying to find a scent to follow, while Derek and Braeden were working to get information everywhere they went after the pack’d last saw them in Mexico. The only reassuring thing about the search was that they had a banshee on their side, one that has yet to scream for Stiles’ death, but the waiting made everything worse.

Keeping the pack together was getting harder and harder for Scott, while their supernatural problems had been relatively nonexistent, seriously there hadn’t been any werewolf threats or deadpools or anything causing them trouble, it was kind of unnerving, despite that, Scott still had to manage being a normal high school student, dealing with and searching for his missing best friend, all while still needing to train his beta.

Liam specifically was taking this all hard, he and Stiles hadn’t gotten along well at the beginning, but Scott could tell that Liam had looked up to Stiles and that his disappearance had hit him pretty hard. As well as Liam and Scott himself, Malia was struggling the most from Stiles’ absence, he was the one that was teaching her control over the shift, not to mention how to handle normal teenage life, without her boyfriend/anchor, Malia wasn’t making a lot of progress, and her relationship with the pack was straining.

Lydia, on the other hand, was probably the one thing keeping them all together and focused, she did her best to keep a level head, and often times missed classes to work on the search. Although she put on a brave face, Scott could see that she was terrified, most likely that one day she would all of a sudden sense Stiles death, and that they would never find him, dead or alive.

The pack and the citizens or Beacon Hills did what they could for the Sheriff, but no one could offer more than the charity casseroles. All that they could offer was their company and their efforts to find his stolen son. Making sure that his father wasn’t alone was what Stiles would have wanted.

XXX

It was a relatively basic day, everyday feeling utterly dull since Stiles’ disappearance, and the pack had met up at Derek’s loft, having repurposed it as their personal meeting place for all matters involving the supernatural. The only difference being that Derek and Braeden decided to come back to Beacon Hills and pay the pack a visit, seeing some old friends was just the thing to lift their spirits, despite the lack of any news on Stiles.

“Still nothing,” Derek answered, after pulling out of a hug from Scott. The senior wolf had noticed the true alpha had looked much older than when he’d last seen him, small, dark bags under his eyes, and worry-lines decorating his face. The rest of the pack didn’t seem to be much better.

Scott’s face fell a little at the words but he looked as if he wasn’t overly surprised by the answer.

“We’ll find him,” Derek tried, patting Scott’s shoulder firmly, “it’s only a matter of time.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Scott replied, carrying them on into a conversation about Derek’s travels, a small distraction from the hope Scott could feel fleeting from him. The pack split off into various conversations with each other, passing the time until their token banshee gasped, jumping up from where she sat on the couch, drawing everyone in the room’s attention to her.

“Uh...Lydia?” Kira questioned. “Everything alright?”

“No it’s...I feel something...it’s Stiles,” she said, around her everyone’s faces fell, horrified that the search had ended this way.

“He’s not dead is he?!” Jumped up Malia, voicing their concerns.

“No it’s-it’s like it was with Eichen House,”

“Lydia,” Scott started after a moment, stepping towards her, the cogs of his mind working quickly, “are you saying you know where he is?”

“I think so,” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a few chapters I might end up doing a major editing thing on all of the chapters to fix up the plot. (Lots of changes!!) Later tho.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCall pack’s experience mostly, in this chapter. Enjoy! :)

They’d been driving for several hours, the gas tank in the van having lasted them far longer than expected, Minho had traded places with Jorge to give the man a rest, being unable to fall asleep himself, for fear of night terrors, an experience Thomas was all too familiar with and the very thing he was avoiding, and, unfortunately, it was not an unusual occurrence for their dysfunctional bunch. The others in the back were sleeping, the sun having gone down hours ago. All except Thomas, his body refusing rest as well, his own wounds being too fresh, despite his body demanding it, he’d told himself that his reluctance to close his eyes was due to his head trauma, when he knew he was more concerned with what he would see when he finds himself alone with his thoughts and imagination.

After sharpening all of the chair legs into spears, he had leaned back against the side of the van, being mindful of the large screens lining the inside and large W.I.C.K.E.D equipment used for God knows what, his eyes closed but mind wide awake, one hand gripping the bullet shell tied around his neck, having read the letter inside earlier that day. There wasn’t much excitement during their little road trip so far, they’d passed by a few small towns, and buildings on the outskirts of them, never really stopping, the need to keep moving having settled itself deep into all of their bones.

After Minho had practically begged him to, Thomas had let himself sleep, either get some rest now to help recover from his injuries, or he would be forced to when his body drops from exhaustion. A little while after the switch, they had come across a large patch of desert littered with the remains of old ruins, in the center of the abandoned city stood a broken stone temple, deciding to stay parked there for the night. Minho, poised to keep watch while the others slept on. It wasn’t long before the sun started to dawn, Gally being first to wake up, the habit drilled into him from the Glade.

The group spent the beginning hours of the day determining their plan of action; we are on the outskirts of a town, are we just going to pass through? Where _will_ we be going? Are we going to settle anywhere at all? They’d neglected to plan out their next move, the need to get plenty a ways from W.I.C.K.E.D having took priority. They’d decided to stay there awhile, rest up, heal, and plan their next move, easier said than done, considering they’d become accustomed to planing out battle strategies against W.I.C.K.E.D and mapping out routes for checkpoints to reach. Without an objective they were lost. It made Thomas’ blood boil to know how reliant they’d become on W.I.C.K.E.D to give them a purpose.

XXX

The next day, Scott had put together a team, of sorts, assigned to the Stiles rescue mission. He had faith in Lydia’s abilities but it was unwise to put all of their eggs in that basket, because of this they’d decided to avoid telling the Sheriff about their trip and left some members of the pack to watch over Beacon Hills while they followed up on this lead. Unfortunately, Lydia’s insistence that Stiles just _had_ to be there made everyone reluctant to stay behind, leaving Peter, Kira, and Malia to hold down the fort, Braeden staying behind with Chris Argent to keep Peter in check.

Loading up the van (similar to the one they last drove to Mexico in), Derek, Scott, Lydia, and Liam steeled themselves for what they might find. After seven months of knowing nothing, they had no idea what to expect. Knowing Stiles was alive and well, within reach was all they needed to put all other worries away from their minds. However, the pack members are far from enthused about having to return to the New Mexican desert.

“You do remember that last time you were there we all almost died?” Malia stressed, as if they needed a reminder.

“That was only because of Kate and the Berserkers.” Liam answered, “And Peter.” He added after a moment, some of the members turning to glare over their shoulders, receiving a small smile and wave in return from the werezombie in question.

“So we should be fine,” he finished.

“Don’t worry about that stuff now,” Scott said finishing packing up their supplies for for a few days in the desert, facing the group and refocusing the conversation. “What matters right now is that Stiles could be there, plus we’re werewolves, not to jinx it or anything but, I’m sure we’ll manage if we run into any trouble.”

Sure last time they were there they’d ran into _a lot_ of trouble, being on far from friendly terms with the Calaveras was enough cause for concern but he’d put the worry out of his mind. They weren’t giving up now.

The quartet said their goodbyes and loaded into the van, planning to return to Beacon Hills that night, the next day at the latest, hopefully with Stiles. Driving out of town, passing the ‘Welcome to Beacon Hills’ sign, they traveled south, to find their lost friend. They _will_ find him.

XXX

They’d drive past the small town home to the Calavera Clan and Scott’s nerves skyrocketed. He wasn’t sure if he was nervous about finding danger in Stiles’ stead or if he was just excited to be able to see his brother again. _If_ _he’s alive._ Scott immediately pushed the thought away. _No_ , he argued with his head, _if anything happened to him, Lydia would have felt it, he’s fine_. The reassurances not quite succeeding in putting his mind at ease, Scott elected to focus on the road ahead of them, they were close. They reached the city of rubble shortly after dark, they’d arrived far easier than the first time, having made the trip twice before. They’d parked in front of “La Iglesia”, Liam and Scott jumping out of the back before Derek had even taken the keys out of the ignition.

“I guess we’re going in,” Liam said, as they all stood in front of the structure staring it down.

“Let’s go,” Derek said starting forward, following along behind Scott as they trekked through the labyrinthine passageways of the stone church.

“Is he really here?” Liam asked.

“I’m telling you I felt him,” Lydia retorted, “he’s here, and he’s alive.”

“We trust you, Lydia,” Derek reassured, “I’m just not catching his scent, at least not quite.” The others startled at this, worried that they’d gone on a wild goose chase, just to go home without him.

“You’re right,” Scott realized, trying for a scent as well. “I think I smell him, but it’s... different.”

“There definitely were people here, though,” Derek added smelling the air, “he might’ve been with them.” Leaving the possibility that they’d been the ones that kidnapped him, let unsaid. They’d reached a spot where it looked like the mystery group slept, imprints in the grime, discarded bloody bandages, and their scents left in the room. “I think that’s Stiles’ blood,” Liam staring down at the tossed gauze, causing Scott and Lydia to pale at the implications. 

Their pace quickened as they returned outside, searching the perimeter of the church for any more of a trail that the people might have left, finding tire tracks from the backside of the building, where a large vehicle was previously stationed, leading back to the dirt road, in the direction they came. Quickly they all piled into the SUV once more, Scott had jumped in the drivers seat this time, Derek sitting shotgun, head out the window, smelling the air, one hand holding the bloody bandages they’d found earlier. Finding Stiles directly from his own blood was their best shot. It made Scott sick to know that he could recognize Stiles by the familiar scent of his blood, it having been shed often enough that the smell was unmistakable to him.

The trail was relatively fresh, from earlier that day, and they immediately took off after it, chasing it back past town, back towards home.

They _will_ find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been writing chapter 6 for a few days and it’s a lot longer than the others so far. I’m debating breaking it up into like 2 different chapters depending on how long it is when it’s done. I’ll be updating soon!! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Glader group centric
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Thomas woke with a start, the remnants of a nightmare that he couldn’t remember startling him into consciousness. As soon as he sat up he became painfully aware of the still fresh wound residing in his abdomen, skin tugging at his stitches as he moved. Looking around he saw the others rousing themselves awake. Leaning heavily on the stone wall next to him, Thomas heaved himself onto his feet, gently brushing the dust and dirt off of himself. The first day traveling from the W.I.C.K.E.D headquarters, they’d slept as they took turns driving for the few hours until sundown, then stopping, last night they elected to sleep inside the church they’d found in a city of ruins. At least it was empty. The van had been too cramped to fit all of them comfortably, making Thomas feel like he was back in the box on his way to the Glade. The building was just slightly less claustrophobic, despite its large stone walls vaguely resembling the walls of the Maze. Man, there really was no escaping W.I.C.K.E.D.

XXX

After everyone’d woken up they’d ate a small breakfast of whatever they could muster up from their supplies, Jorge making sure that Brenda got enough to eat, giving from his own plate if he felt she wasn’t. After their makeshift meal, they decided to split up into pairs and scrounge the building, scavenging anything they could find. They didn’t really expect to find much of anything, but they’d needed something to keep themselves busy. Thomas and Minho covered the area finding nothing worth recovering, the only thing to be found was some very questionable discoveries to be found in a church.

“What the shuck is this?!” Minho questioned, exasperated.

Thomas would’ve laughed at his friend’s agitation if he wasn’t just as freaked out at their findings, this room ranking high on his ‘What the fuck?’ scale. Both boys were standing, looking into what could only be described as a dungeon, a literal _pile_ of bones seated in the middle of a barred cell. And they thought they’d seen it all.

“Uh...let’s keep moving,” Thomas suggested, eying the cell as he shuffled away, Minho right behind him.

They continued their search, finding another peculiar room with a stone slab decorated with restraints and bloodstains in the center of the room.

“Dare you to go lay down on it,” Minho joked, Thomas rolling his eyes. He was relieved that he was still the good ol’ Minho, despite everything they’d been through. That being said, trauma also didn’t stop Minho from trying to wrestle Thomas onto the operating (?) table, relenting when the roughhousing tore some of Thomas’s stitches. Minho not so painlessly unwrapped the bloody bandages from Thomas’ stomach and threw them aside on the ground, pressing a small cloth he’d pulled from his pocket into Thomas’ hands and against the wound.

They’d discovered one more ridiculously concerning room before they drew the line. It was large and open, compared to the other rooms and numerous objects were broken and strewn about, like there was a serious fight between Superman and Batman that took place there. Not that either of them actually knew who Superman or Batman were.

“Okay,” Thomas complained, putting his proverbial foot down. “The only thing that searching this weird shucking place is doing is raising more questions. We’re done, let’s get out of here.”

”Good that,” Was Minho’s response.

They’d returned to the rest of the group, the others seeming to find nothing salvageable either. Unanimously they’d decided to pack their stuff up, hop back into the van and head to California, it being the closest and easy to go unnoticed in. A state map they’d picked up along the way showed numerous cities and they'd selected Beacon county to be their stop for the night, and continued on the road. If they could find a good sized city in Northern California they could find a place to hunker down in and disappear from the world, at the pace they were going, it’d be a couple more pit stops to rest and refuel and they’d be starting off in their new lives in a couple days. They knew it’d be easier to blend into bigger and busier cities but they had gotten enough of the bustling city life, their last experience having gone so well. The way they saw it, putting a good distance between them and W.I.C.K.E.D’s old HQ and a good change in scenery would be good for them. With that they were off, Brenda, deciding that trying to fix stitches while driving on a bumpy dirt road was a bad idea, tightly wrapped a fresh(er) bandage around Thomas’ waist, the teen groaning in pain as they drove over the rough terrain.

XXX

“We’re almost there,” Gally noted after several hours, looking over Jorge’s shoulder from the back of the van, watching as they’d past the welcome sign to a nearby county.

“Let’s start looking for somewhere to stay,” Thomas said, ever the leader of the group.

“A hotel?” Jorge suggested from the drivers seat, noticing a neon sign advertising a ‘Motel Glen Capri’ up ahead.

“You got money stashed that none of us know about?” Gally questioned sarcastically, shutting that option down.

They drove for another few hours before finally reaching the small town of Beacon Hills, pulling into the ironworks, speaking a lot towards the groups tendency to be drawn to dark corners and solitude. Apparently they had a thing for the abandoned and forgotten. (That had to be some sort of metaphor relating to their lives at the moment.) It was well past sundown and they refused to be in that any longer van. Climbing out of the vehicle, they walked to the closest building, Minho stepping forward to bust the lock on the door. They quietly crept into the building, the room pitch black. They used what flashlights and lighters they had on them to look around, finding an open space on the ground where they would stay the night, the exhaustion from the last couple days, hitting Thomas like a truck.

“Night, slintheads,” yawned Minho, receiving a couple acknowledgements from the dark.

The silence was soon interrupted by the sound of Minho’s stomach growling, groaning in hunger in response.

“Shut it, Minho,” Gally said rolling onto his side, annoyed

“You shut it, shuckface, before I decide to come over there and eat _you_!” Minho spat, earning a snort from Thomas across the room, drawing attention back to the injuries he got on his face from his fight with Ratman. He could hear Frypan’s cackle echoing in the dark as well.

“What are you laughing at, greenie?!” Gally snapped.

“ _All_ of you, shut it,” Brenda silenced.

XXX

“The hell happened to you, Rogers?” Deputy O’Harrison asked, watching as new Deputies Barnes and Rogers escorted five assailants in cuffs through the front of the Beacon Hills Police Department, the latter sporting a busted lip.

“Havin’ a rough day,” he ground out as he passed her desk, he and Barnes locking their detainees in a holding cell.

“What happened?” She asked, handing him a tissue for his lip.

“Got a call about some kids breaking into the ironworks,” Barnes replied for him. “Try to take them in and they start throwin’ punches. Now we got them on loitering, driving without a license, breaking and entering, driving a stolen vehicle, _and_ assaulting an officer.”

XXX

“Kid you need to let us in there,” One deputy said to Minho, the other two cops from before behind him, as he was working at the lock on the cell door.

It wasn’t long before one of the officers noticed the bleeding wound on Thomas’ abdomen, which was when they started trying to get in the cell to get him out. They knew it was bad but they definitely weren’t willing to let them split the Gladers up, there was no way they’d trust these cops with one of them alone. So that’s why Minho, Gally, Brenda, and Jorge were currently positioned defensively in the cell around Thomas, who was painfully clutching at his side, slightly folded over on himself, trying his best to stand to oppose the officers trying to get to them.

“You’re not splitting us up, shuckface! Unless you want a black eye to match that lipstick!” Minho yelled to the cop nearest him trying to pry the door open, fighting against Minho’s grip on the bars.

“You’re only making things worse for yourselves.” The officer replied.

“We don’t give a shuck about your laws, slinthead, you’re not gettin’ at him!” Gally spat back, a strange shine in his eyes from all the action. Thomas guessed it was probably because this reminded him of the fighting game they would play in the Glade, he was the champion, after all.

“Hey! Hey, alright! Let’s compromise,” the deputy that was at the desk said, raising her hands in surrender at the prisoners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for updating so late, I just started school again and I’ve been doing basically nothing productive


	7. Chapter 7

The Stiles rescue mission task force had tracked the teen’s scent back to Beacon County, where it kind of scattered about. Scott was positive that he was there. What were the chances that Stiles would’ve found his way back to Beacon Hills all on his own. The thought of it put warmth in Scott’s chest, sure there was a small part of him that thought all hope was lost but he pushed it all away before it was just knowing that Lydia haven’t yet screamed for Stiles’ death that had kept Scott hoping, searching, but now they had a scent, and now they were back home. _Somehow it’d be just like Stiles to somehow manage to outsmart everyone and save himself,_ Scott thought. Scott had Lydia drive them straight to the hospital when they arrived in Beacon Hills, he desperately wanted to see his mother after all the stress both of them had been under lately, nothing compared to the Sheriff, but he still felt an ache whenever he would look around a room and find that his brother wasn’t there. He figured he could fill her in on the recent developments and finally tell the Sheriff when they actually found Stiles.

“Hi honey,” Melissa McCall greeted, kissing him on the cheek, sending a small greeting to the three supernatural creatures behind him. “You came to visit me again! Nothing’s the matter is it? No supernatural creatures causing us trouble, is there?”

“Mom, I think we found Stiles,” Scott said causing the woman to freeze and turn back to him.

“Are you serious?”

“Lydia felt him back in New Mexico where we found this,” he said, pulling out the bloody bandages they found in ‘La Iglesia’. “He’s hurt but his blood gave us his scent, it was so different than it used to be, but we were able to use his blood to follow him, and we think he’s here, in Beacon Hills.”

“I know there’s not much you can tell from these but,...do you think it’s bad?” He asked concerned, referring back to the bandages, as she took them from him, nodding along enthusiastically, anything she could do to help.

“Well,” she said processing the information, but trying not to get her hopes up. “The amount of blood doesn’t necessarily mean that it’s a really bad wound, it could be that he bled a lot or that it’s blood collected over time and not all at once. What’s important to remember is that, this tells us that he’s received at least some sort of medical attention.” The small pack felt a little relief at her analysis.

“We also know that he wasn’t alone,” Derek added from behind Scott. “There were three or four others, the chemo signals we got from them were, from what I could tell, feelings of upset, but not necessarily directed at anyone, not Stiles at least. We don’t know if they are friend or foe yet, but from the fact that they brought him back to Beacon Hills, possibly treated his wounds, and we were unable to find any traces of anger or distress, we can safely say that they’re probably not a threat to Stiles.”

Internally, Derek was relieved not to have sensed anything like that from Stiles, he remembered being on the rooftop of the hospital with Scott during the Nogitsune situation several months back, where he was teaching him to read chemo signals. He thought back on that moment, sensing the overwhelming feelings of pain and fear that Stiles left behind, remembering how he could feel the teen’s internal struggle with fighting off the possession. Derek was almost glad he didn’t get anything off of Stiles, for fear of feeling the remnants of anything like before, his pain lingering in the stone temple.

Scott and Melissa kept talking, discussing the possible injuries Stiles could have, who he could be with, and why he would come back without trying to find them.

“Oh my God, what if he’s at the house right now?! Or with the Sheriff! What if he’s looking for us! We need to go,” Scott rambled, his anxiety and anticipation climbing as he paced the hallway at the thought of his best friend being away from his home for any longer. Scott’s panicked ramblings drowning out the elevator chimes and people around them.

The pack’s attention was diverted only when the sounds of a few people yelling at the other end of the hallway, the distraction halting Scott’s pacing and the others’ worried demeanors. Down the hall, not far from the elevator, stood a few deputies from the Sheriffs Department blocking off a group of fairly young, _adults_ really, who were handcuffed and struggling. One young Asian man was yelling at a deputy, something about a ‘shuck’, ‘Clonk’?, which _what?!_ , and not wanting to be separated.

Scott was about to refocus the conversation again, back to trying to find Stiles, dismissing the scene as stupid teenagers probably caught by the cops while on something, only freezing when he realized he recognized a voice yelling amongst the commotion.

XXX

The deputies’ idea of a “compromise” was to put them all back in handcuffs, _how wonderful_ , and then take them to a **secondary location** , _fantastic_. On the car ride over, more like van ride, considering they’d refused to be separated and couldn’t all fit in the squad car, Thomas found it hard to relax. The combination of a restrained police escort, and a couple of bleeding injuries, didn’t make it easy. Thomas allowed the pain of his wounds weigh against him, not going unnoticed by the other passengers, one deputy from before attempting to take a look at him, however not making it past Minho to manage to do any good. Thomas wasn’t sure if he should be grateful or not for the protection.

Finally they’d made it to the hospital, a disturbingly busy building for such a quaint, little town. They awkwardly shuffled into the elevator and a deputy pressed one of the buttons, the elevator rising while an old ridiculous tune sounded around them in the otherwise silent box. All the while he watched as the deputies sent communicative looks to each other, he could feel the tensions rising.

Thomas would’ve laughed at the awkward silence if he’d felt like he remembered how to. Not long after beginning it’s climb, the elevator came to a stop and released them into the hallway were numerous other patients and doctors hustled by.

The silence didn’t last long and his mood soured quickly when the deputies removed Thomas’ cuffs and urged him down the hall away from the Gladers once more, sending a “wait here” over his shoulder to them, not so gently insisting, despite Thomas’ angry protests. The other deputies moved to cuff the Gladers to the chairs lining the halls, not exactly the compromise they’d expected. Chaos soon erupted between the cops and delinquents. Minho was focusing his anger and specifically attacking the one manhandling their leader.

“I’m getting real tired of this,” The officer said, patience having worn itself thin.

“Too damn bad, shuckface,” Gally spat back at him, the fight within him rearing its head. “You’re not splitting us up, either we all go with him, or none of us do, that’s the deal.” Thomas felt a pulse of pride at the words, showing the loyalty and trust they had built between their little group of survivors.

By that point, the deputy had had enough, despite the peacemaker from before, trying to defuse the situation. He tried pulling Thomas from the others and into a hospital room to await a doctor, but by then the others had had it too, the Gladers breaking out into a full blown fight with the officers.

Thomas, having his hands free, surged forward, delivering a punch to Deputy Rogers’ face then another to his stomach, shoving him back with a kick in the same spot, sending the man to the ground, groaning at creasing his own abdomen painfully. The Glader having been running on adrenaline alone, just his fighting spirit keeping him standing. Behind him, Gally jumped into the air, swinging his arms underneath him, so that they were now cuffed in front of him, and no longer behind, while Minho rammed into the shoulder of the nearest deputy, following Gally’s example, allowing more use of his hands. They’d had their differences and complications in the past, with Minho having put a spear through him and everything, but since then they’d put all of that behind them and grew to be able to fight together and for each other, and that moment showed how much they’d grown.

With the sound of them yelling and fighting, they’d drawn a bit of a crowd, a few doctors contemplating coming forward to break up the fight, not that the Gladers minded, they’d grown accustomed to fighting for their lives for the entertainment of others. They were used to having an audience.

With the help of the first female deputy and a few bystanders, they’d been pulled apart.

“That’s enough,” she said, glaring at the Gladers, Thomas especially from where he stood over the officer still recovering on the floor beneath him. “You are only making this more difficult for yourselves. We won’t separate you as long as you cooperate and don’t give us any trouble, that way we can get your friend here fixed up and get this all over with.” She reasoned sending warning glances to both the other deputies and the teens (plus Jorge, who blew up as soon as the fighting started, doing everything in his power to protect Brenda).

Once everyone had calmed down, for the most part, the Gladers still in defensive positions, and Thomas’ adrenaline had completely vanished, which reminded him, _ow_ , Deputy O’Harrison shooed the onlookers away and reviewed their priorities.

They were about to be herded into a vacant room to await a doctor when a group around the Gladers’ ages caught their attention.

XXX

From where he stood with his pack at the other end of the hallway, Scott looked over to the other end of the hallway where a couple of Sheriff Deputies were trying to restrain the group of teenagers, and an older man. They’d yelled at the officers for a bit while it looked as though they were trying to take one of them away. Shortly after the attempt, all hell broke lose as the hallway became a mess of yelling and fists, distracted by the display, Scott stepped forward after his mother, her having to settle a couple disputes of her own since working there, ready to step in if need be, Lydia, Derek, and Liam following closely behind out of curiosity. Still, amongst the fighting, Scott could have sworn he heard an eerily and hopefully familiar voice, causing a jolt to shoot though his chest.

As he stepped closer, he also got a whiff of a scent, the same one as the blood on the bandages, something settled into the pit of Scott’s stomach, whether it was excitement or fear, he didn’t know but he knew it had to be him, how the other wolves behind him hesitated as well, he knew they recognized it too, seeking out the scent and trying, hoping for a person to pin it to. _Stiles_. They continued forward even after the fight was broken up, watching as the teens stood defensively around each other, angrily facing off against the deputies. In turn they each glanced over to acknowledge the pack’s presence and that’s when he caught sight of him. _Stiles_. Living, breathing, fighting, _bleeding_ Stiles. He tried not to let the blood distract him as he released an inaudible gasp, unlike Lydia and his mother next to him, as they spotted him, he heard the heartbeats behind him speed up hopefully and excitedly, as they continued forward.

Reaching the front of the group, Scott spotted him, standing over a fallen deputy on the ground.

“We havin’ fun yet?!” He called out angrily, looking out amongst the crowd glaring, heaving as blood leaked from his nose.

The female deputy then regained control of the situation, helping up the man on the floor, and coaxed Stiles and his group out of the hallway.

Scott breathed in amazement as he took Stiles in, beckoning to him softly, halting his retreat towards a hospital room down the hall. At his words, eight heads snapped toward him and his pack in response. Scott’s eyes stayed on Stiles.

“Stiles y-”

“Who the _shuck_ are you?”


	8. Chapter 8

Derek wasn’t sure what a ‘shuck’ was but he understood enough of the question to know this wasn’t good, he knew he wasn’t the only one when he heard Scott’s heart stop for a few ticks before beating again, much faster than before. He could smell the dread coming off of him and the others, similar to the same feeling pooling into his own gut.

Scott tried again, “Stiles, it’s us,”

Stiles spared a moment in silence out of shock, disbelief almost, and Scott would’ve charged towards him for a teary hug if not for his next words:

“Look if this is some psychotic angle you’re trying to play like with Theresa, another one of your sick tests, another trial, I’m not for it, so back off,” Stiles responded, a dangerous glint in the unrecognizing glare he sent them, his heartbeat thumping loudly in Derek’s ears, in anger, not fear. He was sure Scott noticed it too.

Sensing his companion’s distress, the young Asian man next to Stiles tensed and turned to them as well, the previous threat the deputies faced them forgotten in favor of glaring at the pack. Despite the man being handcuffed and in the presence of police officers, not to mention undeniably human, Derek acknowledged the threat seriously.

“What are you talking about? Stiles, what’s going on? Where have you been?” Lydia asked, stepping forward, getting a much better view of the small cuts, busted lip, and blood decorating his face, not recent enough to have been from his arrest. He’d been in a fight, judging from the large amounts of blood and grime covering Stiles and the people with him, Derek figured it was pretty serious, and he wondered what happened to whoever they were fighting. Pride and dread simultaneously flooding into Derek’s heart at the thought that Stiles having killed them. The old Derek probably would’ve been proud that Stiles has toughened up and grown into a far less flailing, badass, yet a part of him knew something must’ve been seriously wrong if Stiles was able to kill someone.

“Enough! Look, you all need to back the shuck up before I get angry. I’m not your friend, I don’t know who you are or what the hell a ‘Stiles’ is supposed to be. So you need to back off!” Stiles snapped. He hadn’t moved from his position but the pack members took an instinctual step back at the obvious warning. They new it was Stiles in front of them but they knew he was deadly serious.

What the _hell_ happened to him

XXX

The group made a few more attempts at trying, pleading, for Thomas to recognize them, each making him more angered and confused, only succeeding in unnerving his friends as well. He didn’t know if this was another sick trick W.I.C.K.E.D was playing on him, trying to hurt him with a fabricated past life that he couldn’t remember. Part of him still believed it wasn’t over, in someways in never would be. What really broke him was the thought that because he couldn’t remember anything about his life from before, he had no way of knowing whether he really knew these people or not, perhaps _that_ was the trick, maybe the ultimate goal was to rip him from his own life and identity, remove every part of who he was, just to throw him back into the real world so he could lose himself all over again. The thought of it put a weight in his gut. Regardless, he refused to indulge them. It was easier that way.

Before the situation could get any worse, O’Harrison diffused the tension once more, electing that they stick to the original plan and get Thomas medical attention. He could tell by the look in her eye that she thought he would drop any minute now, honestly he didn’t blame her, he wasn’t sure he could keep standing for much longer either.

The dark haired, middle-aged woman with the group of kids in front of them suggested they let her help him, stating that she’s a nurse, in desperate need of a promotion considering all of the work she does here, and could fix him up if he’d let her. Melissa had managed to convince the Gladers to trust her enough to get close to Thomas, getting on their good side by convincing the deputies to release them, ushering the Gladers away into an empty room in the hospital, only nodding in understanding and agreement when Thomas practically demanded that they stick together. Her face showing no fear or reluctance, only sadness and hidden confusion, likely from the fact that she, along with the rest of her group, thought she knew him.

They’d burst into the room, positions in a sweeping formation used to detect any threats, sending questioning looks at each other then conceding as the kids from before piled into the room after them. The young, pretty girl with red hair from before stood behind the larger man, her eyes had been teary since seeing them for the first time, yet she looked as though she wanted to fight them on this, to get answers most likely. She and Thomas both. The eldest man, looking to be in his mid-twenties, also looked invested, his confusion seeming to only bring anger, what looked to be a constant expression on the man’s face. The last two teens shared dejected, kicked puppy expressions, the younger looking to be almost scared, while the older seemed to also have glossed-over eyes, same as he had when he first saw Thomas, head tilted to the side slightly, matching the slant of his jawline. After some consideration, Thomas decided that despite the two older men’s statures the group looked far too shocked and hurt to be on the Gladers’ radar as a threat, and didn’t acknowledge them further as they shuffled into the hospital room.

“The door stays open,” Brenda growled as Thomas sat down on a chair he’d pulled into the middle of the room, all of the other Gladers facing the entrance.

Thomas sat facing the open door, ready for anyone or anything to attack, his friends circled around him in prepared and practiced defensive positions. All the while Jawline and his friends went on insisting that he knew them, questioning ‘what happened to him’, despite Thomas reiterating that he didn’t know these people. Their pestering only having faltered after he’d grown sick of their blabbing and threatened to kick them out. Once situated, Thomas delicately began to slip his ripped and bloody t-shirt off, before the nurse could move to cut it off of his chest. This was the only shirt he had.

But conversation as a whole halted entirely when he’d finally removed the garment revealing his bare torso. The nurse, “Melissa” as she’d supplied, tried to stifle the small gasp she let out at seeing his bare torso, but everyone in the room had heard it. At the sound Jawline snapped his head from where he was staring intently at Thomas, to looking down at his abdomen,— _Hope you enjoy the show_ , Thomas sneered in his head—Scott’s eyes bulged outward once he locked them onto the various wounds decorating the area. The haphazardly-done, torn stitches over his days old bullet wound, the smaller cuts and scrapes and collection of scars, and bruises ranging in size and color, all displayed across his entire middle, his skin painted with (mostly) dried blood. Jawline’s friends sported matching, expressions, wincing at the pain it must have caused and in sympathy, yet clearly itching to know what had caused the damage.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Melissa asked, speaking for all of them, her voice shaking as she looked at the stitches, fearful of what the answer would be.

“Got shot,” Thomas grunted not removing his eyes from Jawline at front and center, he would’ve shrugged for extra emphasis if it didn’t hurt to move. He sat there, tense and in pain, yet staring intently at the Pack. He gauged their reactions, his answer only seeming to raise more questions for Jawline and his friends. He watched as each struggled not to bury him in questions, to the amusement of Minho and the others where they stood behind him.

Apparently at least one of them couldn’t resist; “Why don’t you remember us?” The youngest of the group spoke up, his face showing hurt and confusion. He looked to be in his early years of high school, and he had sandy blond hair, all too familiar to Thomas. He followed Jawline around like a lost puppy, leading Thomas to believe the latter was likely the leader of the group despite his young age.

“Your guess is as good as mine, kid.” Was his reply.

”What’s that supposed to mean?” The older, broody one asked, his arms crossed and face pinched in confusion and suspicion. Thomas turned towards him.

“Look, all that I can remember is the stuff I’d probably rather forget, so..” Thomas didn’t bother elaborating further, some of his secrecy lost when his strength ran out, leaving him exhausted, enough not to bother to dance around the questions, or glare threateningly at them.

“You mean you can’t remember _anything_?” The red headed girl asked, electing to look at his face rather than his bloodied torso.

“Nothing I can trust,” He sighed.

At that point, Melissa was done inspecting his wounds and was preparing to remove and replace the stitches where he was shot, she told him as much, looking familiarly then questioningly at him when he refused the syringe of painkillers. He refused to be willingly drugged and unconscious in the presence of total strangers, at the risk of getting separated from his friends again or worse, but she didn’t need to know that.

She winced in sympathy and took a deep breath as she began bringing scissors and forceps towards his side, knowing how much it would hurt. He just rolled his shoulders back and took a deep breath through his nose, Minho moving his hands to the top of Thomas’ shoulders to anchor him. The action achingly familiar to Scott.

Taking another calming breath, she began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure if I’ll be adding a Stilinski family reunion in this story, sorry!! Also I might be ending this soon, time will tell, I might have chapters where the pack find out more of what happened to Stiles/Thomas, we’ll see. At some point I might just redo the whole story so, if you liked it so far I’m hoping to improve on it some day to make it a lot better. Thanks for reading, more chapters soon!! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short one today y’all 
> 
> Updates coming soon 
> 
> Enjoy :)

It wasn’t easy to watch. The pained grunts and groans, panting heavily through his nose, teeth clenched, desperately trying not to show weakness or vulnerability in front of his friends and potential enemies. As if Gally and the others hadn’t seen Thomas at his worst before. It wasn’t that he liked him, with their history why would they like each other? But after everything they’d been through together, and to meet up again later, they’d grown to become friends of sorts.

He could tell the strangers crowding across the room weren’t enjoying the show either, he wasn’t sure what their game was and if they really knew Thomas, which of course he wasn’t going to doubt him like that, for all they know these kids could be seriously good actors or working for W.I.C.K.E.D. He knew he was likely just being paranoid, the others too, but after all the klunk they’ve been put through, it was hard to just relax, the triple bamboozle from Theresa was enough to put him in a constant state of distrust. He could sense the others in their group around him were put off by the ‘operation’ probably more than him, but refused to show it to the strangers in the room and their prying eyes. _We should really learn their names,_ he thought.

XXX

Melissa finished up the last proper stitch, regaining her composure after seeing the horror that was the sloppy and torn amateur stitch-work that decorated her surrogate son’s abdomen. As she wrapped him up, she utilized this time to take stock of all of the other abnormalities covering the man’s skin. She noted a long scar across the length of his bare side, consistent with a blade of some sort, various scars from small cuts coating him. Her breath hitched in her throat when she realized that the round, nickel-sized scar on the front of his left shoulder above his heart was the result of another bullet wound since healed. Her thoughts went to the Sheriff, her heart aching for him in light of recent events and how he knew nothing of what had transpired that day. She would have to fill him in later to avoid complicating the situation further. She was sure to remind herself to give her medical and familial reassurances once she was able to spare a moment.

“That should be about it, Thomas,” She confirmed, standing up after wrapping a clean, gauze bandage around his revealed torso. Being particular about using the name he had introduced himself with, making he and his friends feel trusting and comfortable around at least her was important. She took a breath to continue discussing treatments and painkillers she would give him, but he jumped to his feet before she could get a word in.

“Well, since we’re done here we’ll be on our way then,” he answered, standing to meet her, feigning nonchalance, but after years watching him grow up, she could tell when he was agitated. He’d clearly decided that Beacon Hills was too much of a risk for them to be squatting in for too much longer. The others seemed to agree to the change thoughtlessly. A surge of panic flared up inside her and she rushed to placate the tension, sensing her son and his pack stiffen behind her, she quickly did what she could to slow the situation’s escalation. She’d lost a son already, she wasn’t about to let Stiles disappear again.

“Hey now, take it easy. You all are not at your best right now and we don’t need you running around making yourselves worse,” seeing them about to argue or say something sarcastic or cryptic that did nothing but worry the others, she continued.

“Look, I understand you have no reason to trust us, but we can help you, we are...close friends with the Sheriff,”

“If I remember correctly, you all were arrested, so letting us help you would be in your best interest.” Lydia continued for her, finding her voice once again.

“Exactly, so how about you stick around with us, or in Beacon Hills at least, where we can make sure you lot are safe and stay out of trouble. I promise we won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do but, just please let me- _us_ help you.” Melissa finished, holding eye contact with Thomas, his face revealing nothing of what was going on inside his head as he stared back at her, the others behind him shared quick, questioning glances before facing forward as well. Thomas thought on it for a long moment before finally speaking;

“We’re not splitting up,” was all the young man had to say, nodding his head once as he continued to look into her eyes. His, she noticed, were still colored the same whisky brown she’d remembered looking up to her over all these years. He may not look like it, but he was still the same boy she’d watched grow up. She had to be hopeful he’d come back to them for real, at least for Noah.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, more chapters soon! :)

Working to placate the edginess of their hospital room, Derek and Melissa sought out the deputies from before, reassuring them that they had the situation under control. Apologizing for the inconvenience and convincing them that their inmates were still receiving medical attention and that when they were finished the two adults would get them to the Sheriff himself. After awhile they relented and left the hospital, and the pair returned to Stiles’ group informing them of Derek’s SUV parked outside, big enough to fit them all without splitting them up.

The teens and the middle-aged man with them, a detail of which Melissa was a little taken aback by at their first meeting, piled into Derek’s car, sending calculating and untrusting looks as they documented their surroundings. Melissa, having clocked out for the night, made sure to sit in the back with them and maintain their trust as she filled them in on their new living arrangements. It had been decided that ‘Thomas’ and his friends would be staying with the McCall’s given it’s two floors and spare bedrooms, it was far homier than Derek’s loft anyway.

As they walked in to the McCall home, the Gladers stuck to the back of the group, last to enter in case of an ambush waiting for them inside.

XXX

Melissa had shown the delinquents to the house, pointing out the kitchen, main bathroom and spare bedroom, trying to seem welcoming without sounding like a overly friendly prison warden or a perky realtor displaying the three bedrooms and two and a half bath. Opening the door to the guest room, she watched as they swept through the room like they did any other, splitting apart to lock and cover the windows, checking closets and behind doors for anything that could jump out at them. Watching the darting of Stiles’ uneasy eyes, Melissa felt a, now familiar as of late, stone sink into her stomach for the umpteenth time that day, aching at how the boy she watched grow up and helped raise, had grown to be a man, then a stranger.

Seemingly after feeling satisfied with the inspection of the room, ~~Stiles~~ Thomas rounded on her, hand resting over the sheathed knife at his hip, an instinctual, thoughtless reflex, she assumed, the kids having gotten their personal effects back when Derek had split off to collect them from the Sheriff’s department. They hadn’t allowed them to keep the guns and any especially lethal weapons on their person, but they each had a knife they had kept on them at all times, seeming to be out of comfort rather than to come off threatening.

XXX

After setting up the group of strangers in the guest room, the pack went downstairs into the living room for another impromptu meeting, leaving Melissa, ever the peace maker, in the hallway watching over their guests.

“I can’t believe this is happening.” Scott started, his hand finding his forehead as he, found himself pacing back and forth, finally allowing the full force of the situation to hit him like a truck. His best friend, his brother, didn’t recognize or remember him in the slightest. What could’ve happened to him to completely wipe away his identity? How were they going to get him back, to make him remember the life he’d lost? If the real Stiles were here he’d know what to do, at least he’d have a plan! He was always the leader in his own way, without Stiles, Scott would’ve been dead day one. Stiles was always there for Scott, and when Stiles needed him most he couldn’t do anything to help. It was safe to say that, at this point, Scott was hyperventilating, his mind running a mile a minute, firing off every thought that popped into it, the ramblings enough to make him go mad.

“What are we going to do?!” Liam cried, practically in hysterics himself. In the little time he’d gotten to know him, Stiles had been someone Liam looked up to. He’d managed to take care of everyone where Scott could not, all the while dealing with his own problems without complaint. Liam learned just as much about the change from Stiles as he’d learned from Scott, having supported him from the moment he was bitten, doing research, protecting him, and following him into danger unquestioningly.

“We’ll figure something out.” Scott replied instinctually. Looking each member of his pack present with a determined yet unsure look. Trying to provide comfort to Lydia who, was quietly crying and desperately trying to come up with a logical solution.

Over the years of Stiles standing by Scott’s side, Stiles had been providing unwavering support and friendship, being the leader when needed, always coming up with the plans, then eventually plan b’s, and being the crutch at times too. In the time he’d gotten to know the spastic, sarcastic teenager, Liam had decided that Stiles was the kind of man he’d want to grow up to be, someone who didn’t need supernatural powers to save the day, reminding him that words like “human” and “weak” and “werewolf” and “monster” were not interchangeable. Stiles, though he denied it every time someone said so, was the hero.

“We’ll figure something out. We _have_ to.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is about “waiting for the other shoe to drop”, and takes place mostly in Derek’s perspective. This will also probably lead right into the next chapter. Enjoy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, the next chapter will be up soon!! Hope you enjoy, thanks for reading! (Also I’m just now noticing how short this chapter is, sorry, I’ll be finishing the rest of the next chapter this week!)

Sighing, a hand reaching up to press against her hairline, Melissa hung up the house phone on the receiver, walked back into the living room and joined the rest of the pack, who were still trying to figure out just how they were supposed to fix this. She sensed she’d have to be the level headed one in all this, watching the younger wolves pacing around the room, getting more distressed and irritable by the minute. While, curiously, Derek stood leaning against the wall frame, arms crossed, seemingly deep in thought. She had a feeling things were going to get worse before it got better, she let out another long, suffering sigh in anticipation for the other shoe to drop. How exactly does one fix _this_?

XXX

The pack sat defeatedly in the living room, their collective spirits were at an all time low, and considering the circumstances, they weren’t looking forward to how the rest of this night would play out.

“You getting anything?” Scott asked, walking over to stand by the wall where Derek had positioned himself for most of the night. He paused.

“Anger. And... trauma?” Derek answered, inhaling again, continuing when Scott raised his eyebrow in question. “I know that’s not really an emotion but it’s there.”

“On Stiles?” Scott asked, eyebrows furrowed in question.

“On all of them.”

XXX

It had been a couple hours since the pack had brought Stiles and his friends back to the house, and not long after showing them the house, they had locked themselves away in Scott’s bedroom. Melissa could hear the sound of furniture being moved in front of the door in addition to the lock clicking. She stood in the hallway a moment awkwardly, before moving back downstairs, the rest of the pack trailing behind her like lost puppies.

Since then, Derek was sure to keep close tabs on them, listening to their frantic whispers hushed by the second story flooring. A lot of it he couldn’t make out, but he knew they were trying to plan their next move, they likely didn’t trust Derek or his pack and saw them as more of a threat than an ally, but they utilized the advantage of their release from captivity by the Sheriff’s department his pack had provided them, it’d be foolish not to. Derek assumed they would likely try and stay for as short a time as possible and head out whenever they got the chance, probably having realized that they couldn’t go back to where ever it was they were camped out before.

Several hours had past since arriving back in Beacon Hills and none of the pack could sleep, Derek stayed still in his place, appreciating the distraction that monitoring the strangers upstairs provided. Strangers. That word applied to Stiles a bit more than he was comfortable with. After an hour or so, the group in question had since settled and were able to find sleep, Stiles included, Derek took note of, all except one member who sat watch, shifting occasionally in their place throughout the night. After awhile, Derek’s mind began to drift. It was hard to imagine how Stiles, who Derek himself had once described as skinny and defenseless, could differ so much from being the boy he used to know. He’d often overlooked him, in the beginning at least, seeing Stiles as nothing more than the fragile human, naive enough to run with the wolves, literally and metaphorically. In fact, the old Derek probably would’ve been impressed to see Stiles toughen up, rather than succumbing to his natural human “weakness”. But watching as Melissa removed the, untidy bandages, and makeshift tourniquets, revealing a lifetime’s worth of pain and suffering, Derek felt sick seeing his friend so changed and damaged, physically and mentally, even reflecting on earlier that evening made his pulse beat loudly in his ears.

He knew that there was likely nothing he or the others could have done to prevent injuries that Stiles’d acquired while he was missing, a fact he knew Scott would forever punish himself for, but he reflected back in shame on all the times he personally had dragged Stiles right back into the deadly world that he preached he was too weak for. But as time passed, Derek realized that what he once thought of as naivety and foolishness at seeing how Stiles always thrusted himself into danger, was really his incredible bravery shining through, and his loyalty to Scott and their new pack of friends that sent him back into the woods each night, fighting for and alongside them. The same bravery and loyalty that Stiles emitted as he held Derek up in that pool that night.

Sure Stiles was fragile and breakable, and so undeniably human, and that was never more true than in this moment, but Stiles was pack, he was family, it was the least he deserved after all he’d done for them. And at the very least, Derek and the others could show the same loyalty to Stiles as he’d given them, using it to prove that no one there would be giving up on him anytime soon. Derek wouldn’t leave until everyone was okay, he’d decided, no matter how long it took.

As the storm inside of his mind raged on, Derek was deafened by the rapid pace of his heart beat as it thumped loudly in the back of his mind, going almost entirely unnoticed throughout his inner turmoil. It wasn’t until he heard the tortured, guttural scream emitting from the room upstairs that he’d realized it wasn’t his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t write this as a Sterek chapter or anything like that, I see them as just friends, but y’know interpret this how you want. Please share your thoughts and comments, I love reading them!!


	12. Chapter 12

No more than a beat had passed with the house completely frozen before the room burst into action, the horrified shrieking continued, having pulled everyone out of their chilled stupors. Scott was the closest to the staircase so he’d made it there first, stopping up the steps, as Derek followed Melissa, who was just a step behind Scott. The group crashed into the hallway upstairs and Scott wasted no time hesitating in breaking down the door to his bedroom, Derek shoving in after him to help move aside the dresser shoved in front of it. They stood there, alarmed, in the doorway, searching every inch of that bedroom for any sign of danger or intrusion in a matter of seconds, barely registering the fact that the terrified screaming had stopped shortly after the pack had entered the hallway. They settled their eyes on Stiles. Melissa didn’t have to ask to know what happened, she knew from the moment she heard Stiles scream, but that didn’t stop the collective looks of horror and confusion painted on each pack member’s face.

Stiles was sitting at the far side of the room seeming to have bolted uprights for awake, partially curled in on himself, heaving, one hand clutched tightly to his chest. His long, dusty brown hair combed down to his eyebrows was stuck there by a sheen of sweat covering his forehead. None of the others in the room had said anything, and they looked more alarmed by the pack’s presence than they did by the disturbance that had woken them, an observation that didn’t quite sit right with Scott. When the pack had entered, they were all sitting or lying down in their respective places, while still close enough to each other, looking off in other directions guiltily, only sitting up in attention when the pack had burst through the door. The young girl of their group had moved closer to Stiles, likely to comfort him, but yet, she maintained some distance, letting him recover on his own. Lydia took stock of every detail curiously, taking note of how they interacted with each other and reacted to the pack.

Shortly after, the Gladers had acknowledged the others’ presences and tried shooing them out of the room, having five more people crowded in with them, people they knew nothing about, combined with their serious trust issues made the air of the room especially anxious.

Melissa negotiated with them to let her stay to make sure everything was really alright, waving her medical degree like her ex-husband’s badge whenever she needed to convince them of her intentions. “Thomas”, who was still working to get his breathing under control, gave a single nod in confirmation to no one in particular, but each of his companions took it as an order. The girl next to Stiles looked to Melissa as a way of waving her closer, and she turned to assure the pack crowded behind her. She looked at Scott sternly and he understood what she meant;  _I’ll be fine, but keep your ears on_ _,_ but he still hesitated in leaving her alone with them.

It took his friends (mostly Lydia) to drag him out of the bedroom and into the hall, the upside being that this way they could listen in, Lydia included, without imposing in on the strangers in his bedroom.

Melissa closed the door behind them and turned back to the group. She raised her hands as she approached and Thomas nodded her over, moving to sit up more, his back pressed against the bedroom wall.

XXX

Scott stood closest to the door, he and the others had huddled around it as soon as his mom had closed it, he was plenty anxious, the others too, he could see, but he was glad to have something to focus his mind on, listening to the quiet chatter coming from inside the room. Without it, he likely would’ve worn a divot in the floor, pacing.

He could hear his mother speaking softly to the others in the room, Stiles remaining quiet throughout. With Stiles’ consent, she gently lifted the hem of his shirt to check his stitches, the white bandages wrapped around his side had a small amount of blood seeped into them, luckily, she found that none of his stitches had been torn.

  
“Stiles used to get them a lot too, for awhile.” Melissa feigning offhandedness, but gaging his reaction carefully. Her only response was a silencing glare. They both knew what she was talking about, but he didn’t want to hear it.

As she rewrapped his bandages she attempted to make conversation once again. A friendlier, more professional topic this time:

“You seem to be doing just fine, Thomas. This’ll heal before you know it! Of course getting something to eat would help,” she suggested, her previous attempt to get them to eat when they’d first arrived home hadn’t gone so well. “Can I get you guys anything?”

“We’re fine,” Thomas answered shortly.

“Stiles said that a lot too,” she conversed, unfazed. Continuing as he began to grow visibly irritable at the comparison. “He’s my son, Scott’s, best friend. Scott’s the seventeen-year-old puppy from before,” Melissa clarified, chuckling softly. Thomas stared.

“The tall, grouchy-looking one is Derek. He’s had a pretty hard life himself, as I’m sure you all have had, though I don’t quite understand it, but I’m glad he’s with us,” Melissa continued, Thomas nodded along curiously. 

“Outside there’s Lydia, she’s so beautiful and incredibly bright. Stiles is completely in love with her. Then there’s Liam, he’s the youngest, he just started high school so I haven’t known him long, but he’s family. You— _Stiles_ is very dear to all of us, I’m sorry for all that has happened to you but, just know, we’re not going to give up on him, because he’s our family too.” Melissa was staring intently into Thomas’ eyes and he averted his gaze suddenly, almost guiltily. 

He honestly liked hearing about normal lives, what theirs should’ve been like, if they were so lucky. He still didn’t know if he really was the same “Stiles” they’d talk about so passionately, and honestly, he didn’t know which would be worse; having it turn out that he really was Stiles before all of this, the Maze, W.I.C.K.E.D, and had forgotten all that these strangers had meant to him, or if he just resembled their long lost son, brother, and friend, only creating more pain for these people over nothing more than a ghost. Regardless, he slowly gave up his suspicions on whether or not these people could be trusted, and suspecting them of ulterior motives that would only hurt Thomas and his friends, the few he had left. It would be so much easier to stop fighting like this, to give in and see if they come out the other end okay. Maybe this is what W.I.C.K.E.D wanted; to have this kind of hold on him even after they’d taken them down, or maybe this was the only way to be free of them, for real this time. By moving on. Thomas was just tired and scared. He was done being scared. He met Melissa’s eyes and she stared back encouragingly. Looking to his family for confirmation, he spoke.

Thomas sighed. “This is Brenda...”

XXX

Melissa and Sheriff Stilinski peered into Scott bedroom through the now open door.  Progress!  She thought pleased as they watched Thomas and his friends sleeping soundly. She glanced over to her friend, watching sadly as he stared at his son’s far less troubled, sleeping face, how different he looked since they’d last seen him. Melissa remembered watching Noah struggle through the first few days (,weeks, and months) of Stiles’ disappearance, memories of the Nogitsune not a few short months before had been brought back to the surface, opening a whole new realm of terrifying possibilities all to real to them all. 

But Stiles was here now. She knew that he was relieved to see his son finally, but not being able to talk to or hug him was what was killing him. She’d filled the Sheriff in on the situation once he’d arrived, a conversation that couldn’t have been had over the phone. He didn’t understand what was going on any better than she did, but he was coping. He at least took solace in knowing that he was being taken care of (Melissa was providing medical attention to each of the kids and had convinced them to accept a small meal), realizing just how lucky they were to have found him at all, seeing as Stiles couldn’t remember a thing before being taken. Stilinski wanted to be angry, a part of him was at whoever or whatever had done this to his son, but most of all he ached. He ached for his stolen son; missing for sevenexcruciating months, yet still lost.

XXX

“Ok, let’s start with what we know,” Melissa directed.

The pack was crowed around the dining room table of the McCall house. Sheriff Stilinski stood off to the side, deep in thought, worry lines engraved deep into his face as he pondered, but he was still listening intently to the impromptu pack meeting. Melissa hoped that by gathering all the information they had, a way of just looking at all of the facts all together, they’d have a better chance of figuring out what’s going on, and more importantly, how to fix it. It’d at least be a step in the right direction. That and she needed to snap Lydia out of her funk, her genius brain would probably wind up being the key to solving this mystery and helping Stiles. Luckily, Lydia had caught on to her subtle verbal “nudge”, and pulled out of her trance-like state, resorting to using her head.

“Maybe we should make a timeline to figure out exactly what happened while Stiles was gone,” Lydia brainstormed. “ _Start with what we know_ ,” she repeated, sending her appreciation to Melissa through a small, sad smile.

“How are we going to figure out ‘what we know’ if he  _have_ nothing?” Derek asked, sighing.

“Yeah, I mean how are we going to help Stiles if he doesn’t even want to talk to us?” Liam added, eyes pleading with Scott for an answer.

“We have to get them to trust us, and thanks to you, mom, we at least have a start,” Scott answered, smiling lovingly at his mother, his eyes once shrouded with worry and defeat, now shone bright in determination. 

“I know we don’t have much to go off of, but that’s hardly stopped us before. What’s important is Stiles is in trouble and we need to get him back. That’s reason enough to try for me.” Liam straightened up in response to Scott’s change and stoned his face to match his. Melissa felt pride at seeing her son step up, watching how his lost demeanor leveled itself out as he filled himself with hope. She knew Scott was a great leader to these kids and appreciated the loyalty and friendship they gave him (and Stiles).

“I don’t know about you all, but I’m about ready to get my best friend back, so right now we just need to be there for him, as much as I hate this whole mess, we need to give him time to come around to us again, that way we can figure exactly what happened  through him .” Scott decided, helping to relieve the pack’s uncertainty at the loss of their comrade. “We just need to have hope.”

XXX

The house was silent, the air of the place feeling eerier than if should’ve at the memory of Stiles’ horrific screams, but the overall morale had improved since Scott’s inspirational speech. The downside of getting Stiles to trust them again was the matter of time; right now, they were playing the waiting game, and Derek, for one, hated waiting.

Derek had been listening closely to the room on the floor above them for the past hour, from where he stood against the wall of the living room. From what he could tell, the group had, for the most part, fallen quiet then finally to sleep, save for whoever they had posted as watch while they slept despite having Melissa’s reassurances, one of the group was awake at all times, Stiles and his friends taking shifts throughout the night. It must’ve been a pretty bad habit from wherever it was they came from. 

Glancing at his watch, Derek stared as the numbers glowed bright, a large  12:46 shone on its face, and Derek closed his eyes, mentally writing up a checklist for possible moves they could make once they got the ball rolling, planning out what he could, every lead he could thing of, in the black of his busy mind. 

He figured Deaton would be a good choice, as long as that elusive “veterinarian”, as he frequently stated, was still hanging around town. He was able to help with the Nogitsune incident months prior, though poisoning Stiles while he was trapped in his own mind was a little too risky for Derek’s taste. Even so, he might have something to treat amnesia, or whatever it was Stiles had.

_ Assuming this could be treated. _

Derek forced the thought from his mind. 

Maybe Peter had some insight to offer, he always seemed to know something about everything, he’d be a valuable informant, not without a price of course.

_If Talia were here, she’d know what to do,_ Derek’s mind whispered to him. 

But she wasn’t. Derek would do anything to bring her back, Laura too, and the rest of their family, he’d reunited with Cora which was a blessing all in its own, but his family was gone, there is no saving them. He’d since formed a new family, one that needed protecting, and couldn’t just simply wish things back to the way they were, back to when things were easier.

Stiles needed them and he and the others would be there. He was ready to do what he could to help, he’d just wished time would move faster, wished that tomorrow would come and he could do something productive rather than stand there, tapping his foot frantically to fill the silence of a less than full home. 

He needed something to fill the silence, a purpose he could fulfill so he could stop feeling so worthless in the meantime.

After all those months when Stiles was missing, he’d intended to be as present as possible, trying to show Scott the new him, after all the regret he had for not being there for those that needed it, wanting to be considered an ally, a friend, a family member, to Scott. After awhile the gravity of the situation set in and he realized that  Stiles was missing , and he wasn’t there to help. He should’ve been there for each of them, and though they’d all grown closer and bonds stronger, it wasn’t enough. Back then, he’d wanted so bad to be a part of Scott’s  pack family but he still ignored the others that were apart of it, he’d overlooked Stiles before and it cost people their lives, some strangers, others a lot closer to home. History was repeating itself once again, as Derek stood, back pressed against the living room wall, being unable to help Stiles, after all he’d done for him, now that he’d finally corrected his past mistakes. He began to fidget, tapping his fingers on his crossed arms, guilt and anxiety washing over him in waves. 

He shook his head, frowning. Things were different now, he and Stiles were friends and Derek knew better than to drudge up such ridiculous notions, they had enough on their plates in the first place and getting broody and sentimental over the past wasn’t going to help Stiles get his memory back. Man, Derek really did need an assignment, the silence of the McCall home and the current standstill they were facing made him restless, and he was left alone with his thoughts running rampant in the walls of his mind.  _We’ll fix this._

Derek looked back at his watch: _12:53_. He sighed. Patience was never his strong suit.


End file.
